Worth the wait -part 5 in 'the boys of Baker Street
by TooManyChoices
Summary: The action moves to Sherlock's room after another nightmare. John's finally come to terms with moving the relationship along and takes a more dominant role. Sherlock's pov. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback, keep it coming and I'll keep writing what you want. Rated a strong MA for man/man action.


There were few places that Sherlock would say he felt at ease. His room was one of them. Surrounded by the simplicity of bed, books and desk, things reliably remained in their ordered, aligned places and even Mrs Hudson rarely breached the threshold to dust. This was, he thought, his space. In here, there was silence and sometimes, for a brief few hours, there was peace.

He sat in bed, the only light being from his laptop screen, researching pollen levels of Scottish heather over the past 20 years. While he needed some of the information for a case they were working, he'd gone past the needed information some hours ago and was now simply gathering data for future reference, his fingers tapping furiously and data from maps, statistical variances, climate data and photographs flooding his mind and being categorised and filed in his expansive brain. He loved nights like these.

From a distance, there was a creak of floorboard. _John's awake. Patterns of lights through the curtain indicate that the Chinese restaurant across the road is closed but the night club is still open. Traffic noise is reduced but not silent, no sound of pedestrian traffic, rain earlier has stopped. Time is likely to be between 11:30 and 2am._ Glancing at the small clock at the bottom of his laptop showed 1:45am. A small smile of self-validation tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Another creak. _Bathroom? No, wrong direction._ It wasn't unusual for John to prowl the hallways after midnight. Nightmares often disturbed his sleep and Sherlock knew John needed the physical activity to abolish the last vestiges of the dream before he could settle again. _Water downstairs? No, the board on the stairs hasn't announced his presence. That only leaves…._

"Come in John."

The door opened a crack revealing a sleep ruffled John Watson in pyjama bottoms and tired eyes. "How did you know…? No, forget I asked, I'm too tired to care."

Sherlock gave him an investigatory look. _Slight twitch at the jaw, definitely a nightmare. Hair dishevelled from tossing and turning, a bad one. Dark circles under the eyes, not the first night in a row then._ "John…. Come… in."

"I don't want to disturb you, you're working." John still hesitated,

Sherlock gently closed the lid, putting the laptop aside. "No, I have what I need. The rest can wait. "Come….in" It was no longer a granting of permission but an instruction and John obliged, pushing the door open further and walking in to stand just inside the doorway.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes"

"Bad?"

"Yes"

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no."

"Fine" Sherlock reached over and picked up the laptop again, flipping open the cover, hands hovering over keys again. Superficially, it seemed callous however he knew that what John really needed at the moment was normality and something to react to, so he was giving it to him.

John jaw twitched, hardening. "Right then, thanks for the support Sherlock, I'll just go"

He turned to leave as Sherlock, without looking up quietly said, "John, sit down"

John stood caught between the desire to leave and the emotional need to reach out for comfort. In the end, he sat on the end of Sherlock's bed his jaw working furiously as the last vestiges of the dream were burned away with anger at Sherlock's response.

Without a word, Sherlock uncharacteristically scooted across to make additional space next to him at the head of the bed pulled one of the pillows propped behind him to the other side and patted the bed beside him. He then resumed typing.

John opened his mouth, shut it again, sighed and moved up to sit beside the taller man.

"Duvet"

"What?"

"Under the duvet John, otherwise you'll catch cold" The typing continued uninterrupted.

"I'm not getting into bed with you Sherlock"

"Then go away. This is becoming boring."

Never one to run from a fight, John found a solution that met his need to make a point, but not graciously. He roughly grasped the edge of the sheets and pulled them from under himself, shuffling underneath with a scowl.

The typing paused and Sherlock smothered a smile at the absurdity of the situation, looked toward John and saw he was not alone in the realisation. The two men broke into schoolyard giggles, the tension evaporating in the space of a heartbeat.

"You did that on purpose Sherlock"

"Perhaps"

"You….picked a fight with me"

"You needed something tangible to fight, so I gave you something. Lay down John, you'll be able to sleep now."

"Here?"

"You may as well, you're settled now and the change of scenery may help break the cycle of nightmares"

Sherlock knew exactly how tired John was from the lack of resistance to his suggestion. After a thoughtful pause, John merely shrugged and scooted further down between the warm sheets, pausing to look up at Sherlock to make sure that this wasn't some elaborate experiment designed to confuse or test the Doctor in some obscure way.

Delighted with the implementation of his solution, Sherlock smiled softly and whispered, "Sleep well, John." Then, continued typing as John drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Sometime later, sleep dragging at Sherlock's own brain, he put the laptop aside, leaving the lid open to provide minimal light and quietly arose from the bed. Checking that John hadn't stirred at the movement, he crossed to the bookcase and located the camera he knew Mycroft had placed months earlier. Looking sternly at the lens, he mouthed very clearly **This**, and he glanced over his shoulder to the bed behind him, i**s not yours to see**. He then moved a small bust of Newton to block the view of the room from the poorly hidden camera. He then crossed the room, closed the laptop and crawled into bed, at peace with sharing this space with the man beside him.

The following morning, Sherlock awoke to find John watching him, their faces level on the pillows. John looked rested but oddly perplexed.

"So…."John began

"So." Sherlock replied.

"I'm in your bed"

"Obvious John."

"I haven't been in your bed"

"I've been in yours"

"I know, I was there. This should feel more odd."

"And yet…" Sherlock prompted

"And yet….it doesn't. It's actually very comfortable. You have….a comfortable bed Sherlock. I haven't slept that well in weeks". John luxuriously rolled onto his back and stretched, taking much of the duvet with him as it wound around his body. Sherlock grabbed at the edge rapidly disappearing across his hips.

"John… JOHN! Stop…rolling"

The movement ceased as John paused in his stretch, looked over and with a shocked look of recognition asked, "Are you naked?...You're naked under there aren't you?"

With an angry tug of sheets, Sherlock huffed, "Well of course I'm naked John, this is my bed and I always sleep naked, did you think I'd dressed especially for the palace?"

At the memory of Sherlock dressed in nothing but a sheet at the palace, John broke into a fresh set of giggles.

"Not funny John"

"Oh it really is Sherlock, If I just…." And he gave an experimental tug on the sheets.

"John. This isn't a game"

"It really is" tug

"You think I'm protecting my modesty?"

"If that's your own private name for it…yes" John was grinning ear to ear, he was well rested and taking delight in seeing Sherlock off-balance tug

"Then let's just see who's modesty needs protecting" And with a flourish, Sherlock relinquished the covers by dramatically tossing the edge toward John.

Sherlock was presented in all his glory, stretched long and lean down his side of the bed, alabaster skin and raven hair, arms crossed resolutely across his chest and morning erection proudly announcing itself to the room. He turned his head slowly and silently DARED John to comment.

John sat slack-jawed on the other side of the bed, unable to take his eyes off the display in front of him. Buried in a surplus of sheets and duvet he closed his eyes slowly, a nervous twitch betraying his rising stress levels. Opening his eyes again, all trace of humour gone from his voice he murmured "So….not modest"

"Not in the slightest John, surely we established that in the bathroom."

The reference to their aborted shower together combined with the physical state Sherlock was currently in stirred something within John, a need to touch, to reach out and feel skin under his fingers. Sherlock had been waiting for John to be ready to take the next, faltering step in their relationship. Content not to push, yet standing in the wings, ready to step in and join him when the call came.

Quietly, hesitantly, John asked, "Sherlock…can I…can I touch you?"

Surprise flashed across Sherlock's face, quickly hidden for fear of disrupting John's flow of thoughts. He hadn't been expecting this so soon, and he needed to ensure John was comfortable with the move he was making and not simply reacting out of a sense of obligation or pity.

"Are you sure John? You don't have to. I didn't invite you to my bed with this in mind"

"Oh I'm sure Sherlock, and unless I've forgotten basic biology, I'm getting surer with every passing moment."

"Good….alright, good" Now that the moment had arrived, Sherlock found that he wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

He needn't have worried as John, taking the response as compliance shrugged out of the confines of the sheets and smoothed a hand over Sherlock's taut abdomen, tracing the outlines of muscles and ribs with gentle, questioning fingers. Having come to terms with their changing circumstance, John had clearly become comfortable with the idea that he was free to explore and Sherlock found the surety in the touch both delightful and desperately arousing.

With a proprietary grin, John watched the younger man reacted to his touch, Sherlock arching and straining as fingers teased warm, smooth flesh. John felt no shame now in looking openly, starting at the unruly head of curls, lingering on eyes, lips, sweeping down across sharp cheekbones, erect nipples with a dusting of short black hairs. Those magnificent abdominal muscles, usually hidden under tailored shirts leading to a trail of jet hairs guiding his eyes downward until his gaze finally stilled on that majestic symbol of Sherlock's manhood, bobbing and straining under John's unwavering gaze.

"Glorious. You really are…unimaginably beautiful for a man." John continued stroking and touching, letting his fingers drift wherever the mood took him. Grazing Sherlock's shoulders, down arms to entwine fingers and then roaming back up to explore cheekbones. John seemed almost dizzy with the ability to simply place his hands on the taller man. Sherlock resisted the urge to reach out to take John in his arms. Lost in the sensation of roaming hands and delicate fingers, Sherlock revelled in the simple pleasure of lying there and allowing John to drink his fill of the experience.

"Sherlock…." John rolled the name around in his mouth, intimate and rough in a tone neither of them had heard before. As if in that one word, John had unlocked everything that he was, or could ever be. "Can I…?"

"Anything John, you can have anything" Came the reply, strained and humble and full of want.

John trailed his hands downward, firm yet gentle, never breaking contact with skin; over jutting hip bones to gasp the base of Sherlock erection, the other sweeping down to gently cup his balls. A broken whimper escaped Sherlock's lips, encouraging John to glide up the shaft and back down, stilling again at the base.

John leaned forward, face inches from Sherlock's and whispered, "I'm going to take you in my mouth now Sherlock, I'm going to lick my way down your beautiful body and then I'm going to make you groan, I'm going to make you weak, and I'm going to unravel you the way you did to me in the lounge room. You're going to come in my mouth, and I'm going to milk you dry."

Sherlock had never heard John utter anything even vaguely resembling the words that came from his mouth at that moment and this intensely private insight into the man in his bed was both incredibly masculine and the most insanely sexual thing he'd ever heard.

With agonising slowness, John held good to his word, laving a wet path down Sherlock's chest, sucking and nibbling at nipples, circling and diving into Sherlock's belly button and placing tight kisses in a line to his groin. By this time, Sherlock was panting breathlessly and fisting the sheets, twisting them around his wrists, mumbling incoherently with need.

The ghost of warm breath played over his sensitive skin, simultaneously too much and not enough and Sherlock could restrain the broken plea, "Please John. Please"

Never a cruel man, John acceded to Sherlock's wishes, taking him in his mouth, slowly, carefully and Sherlock considered, with what remained of his conscious thoughts that this was likely a first for them both, although John probably had the advantage having been on the receiving end in the past.

Sherlock's hand shyly wavered to John's head, without knowing quite why, only that he needed a sense of touching while being touched so intimately, John's tempo didn't falter, the rhythmic cycle of down, up with a swirl of tongue around the head, a occasional squeeze of the lower hand driving Sherlock toward the edge over and over again. A distant part of his brain wished he was collecting more data, more objective information for future reference but he'd long since given up any pretence of control and his world had narrowed to simple, instinctive thoughts of _more, yes, now, there_, and loudest of all, drowning out the others..._John always John._

Sherlock knew he was close and John, being a man and a doctor knew too. The pace changed slightly, although Sherlock was beyond being able to define whether faster of slower, and he was coming, spilling into John's mouth and shouting John's name and falling, and flying, and drowning and gasping for air and through it all, he could feel John's hands on his hips, steadying him, grounding him and giving him somewhere to land as he came back to himself.

Sherlock found himself shaking and gasping and on the verge of tears as John crawled back up his body to lay on his chest and gather him in strong supporting arms. Sherlock's longer arms encircled John, holding him tight and whispering nonsense that he'd probably have forgotten by tomorrow. But it was somehow important, that he find the words to define this, to explain what had happened.

"Shh Sherlock, quietly now. You're fine."

"Fine?" Sherlock managed, "I'm beyond fine John, I'm so far beyond fine that I don't have a word for how good I am"

The great Sherlock Holmes, lost for words...John smiled.


End file.
